Table of Contents

Title Page

1 Traveling Woes

2 Mercenary Morals

3 A Lizard

The Portal Problem
Episode 3: A Fairy

By Amanda Flieder

www.amandaflieder.ca

Copyright © 2021 Amanda Flieder

Cover Art: Toby Wong

www.unsplash.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, and recording or otherwise – without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief passages quoted by a reviewer in a newspaper or magazine. To perform any of the above is an infringement of copyright law.

1 Traveling Woes

“We could at least have gotten a horse for me,” Aston muttered, looking back at the small valley they’d gone the long way around.

The roads in and out of the valley were wide and well maintained, horses and wagons plentiful from the glimpses he could catch, and the amount of smoke boasted evidence of a large settlement. Midday bells rang out cheerfully and Aston slouched longingly; bells meant the town down there was there big enough for bells.

“We could’ve gone for a meal with actual spices in it!” Aston called, turning to see his Reptillian protector and travelling companion wasn’t waiting for him at all. Again.

Draessellor didn’t even twitch a scale at the accusing comment. Both his eyes stayed looking forward as his steady steps continued away from the – in Aston’s imagination – bustling streets and buildings. Three days ago Draessellor said he could smell a town, adding that it reeked of only humans and there hadn’t been even a whiff of trading with the other races common to this part of the world. He’d said it wasn’t a safe town to go into for either of them as usually single-race towns were violently exclusive.

At least, Aston had interpreted that’s what the old lizard’s frowned grunt of “Human town,” and subsequent direction change away from the valley was meant to translate to when Aston asked him if they could stop for supplies. After a final, long glace over the valley, Aston turned and jogged to catch up with the old lizard.

Their first week together, in the desert tanning snake hides which Aston was now wearing as clothing, he’d tried – often – to talk to the mercenary. The lesson was learned quickly any conversations would be short and one-sided. Draessellor wasn’t much for verbal communications. Now, after two months of walking, the old lizard spoke even less than in the first week.

“You know, I could go back and get a horse and a meal for myself if you wait here,” Aston offered. “I am Human,” he added. “Human town, Human me, it should be fine.”

One of Draessellor’s eyes swiveled back to stare at the Low Prince for a moment, the gaze of it dropping and lifting once before swiveling forward again.

“I could trade for proper clothing and some armor while I was there, as well. You’re the one who keeps saying I need armor for the mountain crossing,” Aston said. “Look, I would be back here well before nightfall and –”

Draessellor stopped. He turned his whole head this time so his elongated face was profiled against the trees ahead of him. A single eye stared over his shoulder and down at Aston in disapproval. “You wear snake leather like a poor desert Human and carry the sword of a rich mountain one. You stand and speak with the posture and the manners of your royal mother but smell like a beggar. You think anyone in that town will trade with you, a strange stranger, just because you’re Human?”

It was the most the old lizard had said in the past three weeks... since the last time Aston had done something extensively wrong and potentially dangerous.

“I just thought...” Aston let his voice trail off, following up with an uncomfortable shrug.

“They’ll believe you’re a thief at best. They’ll treat you as a murderer at worst.”

Aston stared at the dead leaves around his feet. The weight of Draessellor’s stare at the top of his head left his shoulders bowed from the pressure. The old lizard’s scales rustled under his armor and then he started walking again, his steps taking him further away from the valley.

Sundown that night was just like every other night: set camp, small fire, hunt dinner, cooking, eating... then training. Aston didn’t know why the mercenary had decided he needed to be better at fighting, but assumed it was the same reason Draessellor wanted him to have armor. It felt silly to practice with the stolen sword and knife while travelling with an extremely deadly mercenary, and downright ridiculous going through the hand-to-hand combat training against the old lizard, but Aston was fairly certain he’d been getting better over the past weeks. He tripped less, now, anyway.

Sunup started off with the usual cold breakfast, and then the routine switched entirely after Draessellor grunted “Stealth training,” and disappeared silently into the trees. Four days of chasing the ghost of the old lizard and getting ambushed by scaly-handed swats at every wrong step and Aston felt completely ready to happily walk back to the valley and be treated like a murderer in the Human town. These four days were almost as bad as using the cursed portal stones to travel!

Well, maybe not that bad, Aston corrected as he stretched and felt the tight skin of the scar across his back. Travelling with Draessellor was definitely safer, aside from being infinitely more... difficult.

Their route over the next weeks was ever forward into the growing foothills. The increase in stony footing meant less footsteps and rustling leaves, so less of Draessellor’s ambushes. The more plentiful creeks meant more than a few wet afternoons after being ambushed.

How something as large and creaking as Draessellor could move in silence and hide in almost plain sight without disturbing even a twig was an absolute enigma Aston couldn’t figure out at all. Not to say he wasn’t trying his best to emulate the old lizard, but figuring out the fine points of finesse was proving to be something he felt was well beyond his personal capabilities.

He crept past a couple of grazing rabbits, using this latest creek to hide the sound of his footsteps and keeping his head low and below the steep embankment, grateful the breeze carried his scent away from the rabbits as he concentrated on placing his feet. Surprising himself, he arrived on the far side of them without having disturbed anything. And he recalled every step and moment of sneaking past right down to which birds had flown over him.

“Good stealth, son of Ceil,” Draessellor’s disembodied whisper said. The hulking mercenary detached from the scenery and walked the few steps to look down where Aston was waiting to be thrown in the creek... again. “Lunch,” the old lizard added, holding out some fish.

The Low Prince took them carefully and heaved a relieved sigh as the old lizard only gave him the fish and then pulled him up onto the grass. Once Aston was back on his own feet Draessellor turned and walked away, the small deer for his own lunch dangling from his other hand.

Belatedly, the whispered words praising Aston for doing something well sank into his brain. Startled, he glanced back. The grazing rabbits were sitting up on their haunches, staring this way because Draessellor hadn’t been silent when he walked off with his lunch. Aston hurried after the mercenary, careful to keep his steps quiet, more than pleased with himself as the rabbits went back to grazing.

2 Mercenary Morals

Draessellor tasted and sniffed the air more than usual as they were eating. Aston knew the behaviour meant there was another person around, but ‘around’ could mean anywhere from nearby to three days away depending on that person’s hygiene and if they were upwind. That estimate narrowed quickly to nearby when someone cried out in surprise within a distance Aston could hear. Metal clanged and there were more shouts.

Aston stood and turned, easily finding the direction the sounds of a scuffle were coming from. Draessellor stayed seated, tearing off and methodically chewing another bite of venison.

The noise of the fighting changed from scuffling to definite attackers and a single voice of being attacked. “Don’t you think we should...?” Aston left the question hanging and gestured toward the noises.

Drassellor rolled one eye to look at Aston before glancing toward the sounds. The big Reptillian shrugged one shoulder before turning back to his deer to bite off another chunk.

Aston’s hand dropped to the hilt of the sword he was carrying as whoever was being attacked screamed. He couldn’t tell if it was a rage scream or an injury scream.

“Lay hands to me again and I’ll carve your eyes from your skull to use as decoration for –”

The enraged threat was interrupted by whoever was speaking being struck hard enough for the words to abruptly end. Only coughing followed. Aston gestured, again, for Draessellor to stand and join him in looking for where the attack was occurring. The old lizard hunched closer over the small fire and flicked one taloned hand; as if dismissing a child from schooling at the end of an irritating lesson.

Aston struggled twice over with a flare of anger at his companion; first because the ancient creature apparently had no moral compass when it came to attacks of multiple people against one, and second because he’d been protecting and training Aston all these weeks and now couldn’t be bothered to help someone having a real fight. The fighting sounded like a roadside robbery. It wasn’t like brigands would be a problem for the mercenary!

The final word in that thought snapped Aston out of his anger: Draessellor was a mercenary. He wasn’t being paid to fight random robbers as they travelled. He was being paid to deliver Aston home. Aston didn’t have anything of value to pay the old lizard with for fighting random robbers, and Draessellor would have smelled if the one being attacked had the potential to pay for a rescue. If there was to be a rescue, Aston was on his own to provide it.

The Low Prince darted off between the trees in the direction of the yelling, pleased with himself for noting landmarks quickly so he would be able to find his way back. One thing for certain, it did feel good to be getting better at travelling, hunting, fighting, and hiding than when he’d first met the old lizard. It also felt like a good idea to use his new skills to improve the world a little bit, especially if the mercenary wouldn’t.

“Hold him down!”

“Get hands on the wings!”

“AH! He bit me!”

“I said hold him down!”

“What’s he muttering for?”

A blinding flash of light burst out from where the voices were yelling, turning the leaves into papery skeletons. Aston blinked away the after-images and crept further forward as the yelling resumed.

“I’ll feast on your spleen!” The one being attacked screeched the threat, this time their voice nearly squeaking as the attackers yelled and yelped without words.

“I got him!” one of the attackers called out triumphantly. He ‘umphed’ and something heavy thudded to the ground.

“Whose got who now?” The distinctly not-squeaking voice of the one being attacked asked.

“Get him off Ike!”

“Grab him!”

“Get the wings!”

Aston stopped behind a thick tree and peered around the trunk at the failing robbery. More people were running from the other direction to where the fight between four men and… the sparkle of iridescent wings had been a flash half as tall as Aston and then disappeared. He blinked and caught sight of twinkling zipping out between two of the attackers. One of the two spun and threw out a leaden blanket that fell over what could only be a fairy, pinning it to the ground. The attacker who’d thrown the blanket pounced and pinned down the fairy as it shifted back to full size in an attempt to throw off the blanket.

“Gotcha!”

“Cut his wings quick now he’s big!”

“His?!” the fairy yelled, then grunted out “hers!” after being punched hard in the stomach.

“Yeah! Twice the bounty on wings from him being full-sized!” the thug who’d last punched her stated with a grin, completely ignoring her correction. Aston’s stomach turned as one of them produced a heavy knife and advanced on the fairy. These weren’t thugs; they were poachers.

In total, seven poachers encircled the three holding her down. Aston had only before seen fairies in books, except that one time he was bespelled by a harpy... This one didn’t look like a harpy in disguise. And she was… muttering?

He threw his arm up to block his eyes a moment before the searing light blinded the poachers attacking her.

“I lost him!”

“Don’t move! You could step on him!”

“Is he in the blanket?”

“Would I’ve said ‘I lost him’ if he was in the blanket?”

“My eyes!”

“Shut it! All of us got half blinded!”

Aston dropped his arm and looked around the tree. The fairy was small again and struggling overground to get clear of the stumbling and scuffling thugs, her direction angling for the nearest trees as she dodged and darted around stomping feet. No time for thinking up a better plan, Aston left his sword sheathed so that he could better hold his cloak and stayed low as he sprinted toward the fairy. She didn’t see him until his hand dropped in front of her, fingers open and palm up. One of her wings looked crumpled.

“I’m not with them,” he whispered. She frowned hard up at him.

One of the poachers stumbled over him and he twisted a bit to toss them further than if they’d just tripped. Their grunt as they landed caught the attention of a few others, and their wheezing was confused as they squinted and blinked back toward him, trying to see who or what he was.

“I think... I think... a rock... just tossed me,” they panted out as they tried to catch their breath.

“Rocks can’t throw people. Where was it?” another asked.

“I’m over here,” he wheezed. He started slapping the ground to make extra noise for the rest to find him faster.

“Last chance,” Aston whispered to the fairy.

Her jaw was clenched and her glare distrustful, but she climbed onto his hand and knelt on his palm. He curled his fingers up for her to hang on to and quickly scurried out of the little clearing. Two people saw him retreat and tried to follow. Once inside the trees he stood just straight enough to knock the first poacher into the second by pulling back and then releasing a heavy branch, sending them stumbling back into the clearing, and then slouched low and sprinted between the trees how Draessellor had taught him. The group of poachers fought among themselves, first about who’s fault it was for the fairy getting away, and then about how ridiculous it was to think a rock and then a tree could attack a person.

3 A Lizard

Aston ducked behind a rocky outcropping and caught his breath to listen for any pursuit. The poachers sounded like they were remaining in place to search the small clearing where they’d lost the fairy. They were still yelling at the one Aston had struck with the branch, mostly that trees didn’t attack people. He huffed a quiet chuckle and then looked around for any of the familiar landmarks he’d noted while running toward the fight, spotting a certain knotted and twisted tree not too far off.

He set his hand on the ground for the fairy to be able to step off easily. “I suppose you’d prefer to be on your way?” he asked.

She turned to listen toward where the poachers were arguing and then looked up at Aston from the center of his palm as if he was missing half of his brain for having made the suggestion. “I can’t fly, and I’m nearly ready to collapse from using so much magic so quickly, and you just want to leave me here where they can walk over and pick me up without any sort of effort at all?” she demanded.

“Oh, I... uh, I didn’t think of that,” he replied quietly.

“No. You didn’t,” she agreed harshly.

“What about friends or family who could –”

“No.” She cut off the question before he even finished asking.

“All right. Um. You could come with us?” he asked instead, so uncertain about it that she stopped moving around in small efforts to sit more comfortably in his hand and stared up at him.

“ ‘Us’?” she asked, glancing around for who else he might be with.

“Me, and my...” Good grief, how was he going to explain Draessellor? “Friend,” he finished, carefully.“My name is Aston,” he added, hoping to change the subject.

“Hm. And what are you pretending to be, Aston?” she asked, reaching out to poke at the serpent hide sleeve of the shirt Draessellor had fashioned for him.

“A” –he paused, it wasn’t like he could say he was the Low Prince of his father’s kingdom while dressed like this– “an apprentice,” he said quickly.

“An apprentice for what?” she asked, staring up at him suspiciously again.

“Um... fighting?”

She cocked one of her little eyebrows at him.

“And stealth,” he added hastily.

Her other eyebrow joined the first.

“Like, well, you know, outdoor life, and protecting myself...”

“A Ranger?”

“Uh,” he said, his mind racing to compare if that description matched anything similar to what he was actually learning these past months. “Sort of?” he answered with a question. “Look, you can either come with me right now or not. If you don’t want to travel with us then at least our camp is further away from those poachers than right here.”

She sighed heavily and gave him another weighted, long glare. “Fine. I’ll go with you right now,” she said.

“All right. Do you have a pack with you, or a camp we need to circle back to for your supplies?” he asked.

“No.”

He waited long enough to realize that was all she was going to say before he shrugged, stood up, and crept back along the way he’d come while making sure to cover his passage. Draessellor was still at the fire, but had finished his deer.

“Did you backtrack? Your passing was concealed?” the old lizard asked.

“Yes,” Aston confirmed, coming around to crouch at the fire and show Draessellor the fairy. “And I recused this –”

The mercenary flicked his tongue at her. “Magic user,” Draessellor grumbled the interruption through a heavy frown. “Leave it here,” he commanded, picking up his pack in one hand and dousing the fire with his other.

“But wait! I mean, just look at her. She’s injured,” Aston argued. He hurried to collect his own pack one-handed as Draessellor started walking away. “She was being attacked by poachers trying to cut off her wings and she was hurt during the fighting. We can’t just abandon her right after I rescued her,” he reasoned.

One of Draessellor’s eyes swiveled back to stare at Aston before dropping to glare at the fairy the Low Prince carried. She was clinging to one of his fingers and staring at the Reptilian mercenary in horrified terror. The old lizard stopped and turned fully, walking back the two steps needed for meeting Aston’s halted scramble, to glare down at the fairy.

“She was fighting against at least eight poachers. Plus, she knows a spell that sets off a burst of light so bright it blinds anyone looking at it for nearly a minute. Those skills have to be useful, right?” Aston said.

Draessellor stared at the fairy with one eye and Aston with the other for what felt like an eternity. Then he huffed, shaking his head in the way which only meant irritation, and then turned away. “I won’t tend it,” he muttered, already resuming his steady march toward the mountains. “And I won’t feed it,” he added, quietly calling back over his shoulder.

Aston gave the fairy a reassuring smile. “That means Draessellor says you can come if you want to. Just let me know if or when you want to stop travelling with us,” he said.

She opened her mouth to reply but only a wordless squeak ending in a whimper came out. It wasn’t a request to be put down, so he started walking after Draessellor.

“We’re going over those mountains there, then across the Small Plain on the other side out to the coast. After that, we’ll be turning south to go to my kingdom. I ended up across the Long Plain and the desert by a cursed teleportation, way back that way. Draessellor is taking me home. Apparently he’s a friend of my mother’s.”

The fairy only whimpered this time.

“You already know my name’s Aston,” he continued. “And you are?”

“Ssshh...” Her voice didn’t work but she swallowed and tried again. “Sh-Shyla,” she stuttered.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shyla,” he greeted. She stared up at him like the rest of his brain had gone to find the missing half from earlier.

“You are not Rangers,” she accused, anger quickly replacing every other expression on her face.

“No,” he agreed. “But we’re not wing-cutting poachers, either,” he added. Her head dropped forward as she muttered to herself too quietly for him to hear, smacking her tiny palm into her small forehead a couple of times. “So... where are you from?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going now that he had someone to talk to.

She looked up at him, turned and assessed the passing trees in the direction of the poachers they’d gotten away from, then her posture slumped and she leaned sideways against his fingers. “Somewhere sort of close to here. But I am not going back there so it isn’t important anymore,” she stated.

“Sounds like a good place to be from,” he said. Her head snapped up and she stared at him in surprise. “I think you’ll like going out to the coast, actually. It really is nothing like anything here. I’d never have thought I’d miss it, but I do. Our island always seemed so limited” –he looked around at the forest and gestured back toward the desert– “but this is all so unlimited.”

“Then why did you leave?” she asked.

“Well, I actually didn’t. Not on purpose...”